


At The Ballet

by sunflowerwithfeelings



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5 Things, 5 Times, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Ballet Master!Sherlock, Fluff, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, cause that's a good concept, oh yeah and, or - Freeform, tattooed!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 07:59:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9375569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerwithfeelings/pseuds/sunflowerwithfeelings
Summary: John was sitting behind a light board, crammed in the back of the theater inside the tech booth. His fingers lit up as he messed around, learning the new switches and lights the theater had. By encouragement from his friend Mike, John had applied and now sat as the theaters offical lights technician. He doesn't plan on staying long, in hopes of BBC or Broadway, but a heavily inked ballet master may prove otherwise.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this solely to keep myself sane during TFP for reasons you probably already know if you've been on Tumblr for more then 5 minutes. This simple Ballet AU is to fill the void that Moffatiss probably made after ripping your heart out. No spoilers are in this JUST in case you haven't seen the new episode, but I probably just spoiled the whole thing so oops.
> 
>  
> 
> ((This is in no way, shape, or form a hate fic. The above is just my opinion because TFP was honestly really disappointing. S4 was horrible but The Lying Detective had probably some of the best cinematography I've ever seen, but please. Just be nice.))

  
The first time John saw Sherlock, John was tapping away at a switchboard that was lit up like a christmas tree. A headset dangled from the side of his head, his hair was previously neatly combed but now he was too bothered to smooth it over. His eyes flickered from the stage to the board and back again, he was getting used to this stage's set up.

He'd been quickly hired as a lights technician at a theater that, according to rumors, was failing pretty miserably. John figured that the extra experience and job could boost his resume when he applied for somewhere more important like Broadway or BBC. John heard of the job opening when his friend, Mike, who was help directing the next show, stuffed it into one of their early morning conversations. He'd said that after the theater was bought by a pretty wealthy man, the dancers seemed to be in a higher spirit.

A few people walked by on stage, John not paying attention to them. He'd met very few people, this being his first day and to his knowledge they had a person for sound and two managers in the back that operated curtains and props. John had met them already but as of now, he was alone in the booth.

A booming voice from behind the right wings erupted, John’s head snapping upward to see who was spouting orders like that of an army general. Tall with dark curly hair, a man gracefully walked out on stage, two dancers following him. They seemed to be listening intently to him, the man speaking in ballet terminology that John didn't know. His voice was deep and rich, luxurious was a word John would use to describe it. Just as John started to stop what he was doing, the door to the booth opened and someone sat down next to him.

It was the sound operator, Greg. “What are you looking so dreamily at?” He asked.

John snapped his head to Greg, his face now a rosey pink. “I-um, nothing.”

Greg smiled and looked out onto the stage, seeing the instructor and performers. “Ah, that's Sherlock, the ballet master. His brother bought the theater so he was hired as the new master, a lot of the dancers like him,” Greg said as he flipped some switches on his bored, lights dancing at his fingertips. “Didn't know he was your type though.”

“ _Sherlock_ ,” John repeated back, his lips getting used to the feeling of the name. He didn't have the energy to react to Greg’s snarky remark; his gaze drifted back to the ballet master, who was now shirtless and had his arms outstretched in second position. John could spot what appeared to be a myriad of tattoos spaced out amongst Sherlock’s body. His muscles, incredibly toned, flexed yet gracefully moved in the air, hypnotizing John.

“Look, I know he's pretty sweet but you should probably go to Molly in costuming to see what they'll be wearing.” Greg replied.

John nodded and picked up the black box that went along with his head set, he'd take it in case Greg or anyone backstage needed anything. He exited the booth and made his way to costuming, unable to get the new ballet master out of his mind.

* * *

The second time John saw Sherlock, it was completely by mistake. The heavily inked ballet master had been passing by the stage door as John was leaving, his hands busily folding an orange scarf around his neck when the two collided.

“I am _so_ sorry-” John paused as him and Sherlock made eye contact.

Sherlock just smirked and created a small space in between the two. “It's quite alright. Say you're John right? The lights technician?”

“Yes!” John answered excitedly, Sherlock knew who he was. A dusty rose color began to sprout on to John's neck.

Sherlock nodded his head as his eyes glazed over the blond. The two began to walk to the exit doors, their conversation generic but John loved every second of it.

“You're a friend of Mike?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes, old buddies from college. Both struggling theater majors,” John laughed, hoping Sherlock would to.

And he did. A soft and sweet, deep bellow from the ballet master made John’s heart do somersaults in his chest.

They opened the door and were met with the thick, brisk, early December air. The bottoms of their shoes meeting concrete and the conversation slowly dwindling, both separated and went on their own way home.

The entire walk back to John's flat, he ran the conversation over and over in his head, cherishing each moment.

* * *

It'd been weeks that John sat in the booth and admired Sherlock from afar. The third time John saw him, John was more watching him than anything. The show was to open soon, John noting the way Sherlock demanded perfection from the dancers.

They were performing a slow number, a spotlight needing to gently stay on the main dancer. John guided the light around but his attention drifted to Sherlock who stood on the side and watched the ballerina, preparing to stop her at a moments notice for a slight imperfection.

The light slowly started to drift away and the attention was immediately on John as Mike turned around and yelled at him.

“Do your job John!”

John shook his head as if to shake off the thoughts about Sherlock, when he realized the performer had stopped and everyone was staring at him, including Sherlock. He blushed vividly but hoped they couldn't see from that far away. He changed the spotlight and the ballerina began again, Sherlock's attention lingering on John before going back to the dancer. John didn't know if Sherlock was looking intentionally at him, or just somewhere in the dark. A small flicker in his heart hoped it was at him.

“Stop, Stop, Stop, _Stop_!” Sherlock shouted at the dancer. The pianist stopped abruptly as the dancer paused, prancing back around in her pointe shoes, glaring at the floor then looking at Sherlock.

“ _Where are your feet during the padasha?!_ ” Sherlock asked, a tinge of sassiness weaving into his voice. The dancers hands glued themselves to her hips as she sighed, smoothing back strands of his bun that had come undone.

John didn't know what he was talking about but the dancer seemed to track further downstage, positioning herself again. Sherlock nodded at the pianist who began to play again, the ballerina coming alive and repeating what John assumed was a ‘ _padasha_ ’.

Sherlock applauded the girl and let her continue, slinking back into the shadows as she continued her dance number.

In the darkness, Sherlock looked like a phantom. The tiny ball of obsession had rolled into a crush and John was at the mercy of his heart.

He shuffled the light plot papers around, trying to find where he should switch on a certain light. Greg sitting besides him, laughed to himself as John, as flustered as he was, tried his hardest to remain calm but failed miserably.

“Have you talked to him yet?” Greg asked, his gaze not faltering from the board in front of him.

“Yeah, kind of.” John answered honestly.

“Look, I know this little cafe that all the performers love. Go and buy some doughnuts from there and make sure to by their crème brûlée doughnut.”

“That's Sherlock favorite?” John asked, he wasn't surprised Sherlock had an expensive sounding doughnut preference.

“No that's mine,” Greg smiled. “Sherlock's is the matcha tea one, a little weird but that's kinda to be expected.”

John nodded his head and made sure to mentally, and physically, note that. His eyebrow twinged and he looked at Greg is confusion.

“How do you know Sherlock's favorite doughnut? I thought you said he was new.”

“I've know Sherlock’s brother, therefore Sherlock, for a long time. See his brother, Mycroft, is all into the buying-things-and-making-them-huge business so when he heard I worked here, he bought it. Kinda fast actually…” Greg and John were both staring at their control boards when Greg trailed off, his brain linking things together. “Anyway, the way doughnuts plays into this is that the first day after all the performers were hired, two boxes of doughnuts sat on the stage, from Mycroft. He's a sweet bloke. Kind of cold hearted but sweet.”

John didn't know how to reply to that, he shrugged his shoulders and nodded his head. Beggars can't be choosers, and he did ask for an explanation.

  
The next day, John woke up early and made sure he was the first customer into the cafe that all the performers loved. It was a tiny little shop, the classic red and white pinstripe awnings. John ordered two baker's dozen, a variety of different doughnuts to make it seem like he wasn't just shopping special for Sherlock, and Greg.

With his bag’s strap pressing into his right shoulder, John carried the boxes with both hands, using his back to enter the theater. The lead ballerina had just gotten to work as well, she was the first person John saw.

“Care for a doughnut?” He asked her.

“Oh, that's really lovely of you,” She said as her hand touched her chest. “Thank you John.” She grabbed a simple glazed one and waved, scurrying along to get dressed.

John repeated this several times with the performers and technicians, not spotting Sherlock the entire morning.

He was sitting in the wardrobe room with Molly and several of the other performers just before rehearsal.

“Thanks for the breakfast,” Molly said with a mouthful of sugary doughnut.

The other performers echoed back the same and John just simply nodded and smiled. The door opened and Greg walked in, spotted John and gave him a wink.

“Thanks John,” He said, taking the doughnut he specially ordered and turned.

“Has anyone seen Cla-” Sherlock didn't get to finish his sentence because Greg turned and ran smack into him, the cream from the doughnut getting all on him.

“Sorry Sherlock, I'll clean that up-”

“Who brought doughnuts?!” Sherlock's eyes scanned the room. “Opening night is in a couple of days and your eating doughnu..t...s….” Sherlock's words trailed off when he saw John sitting by one empty box and one half empty.

“Don't be ridiculous Sherlock, he even got one for you.” Molly said, pointing to the box.

Sherlock's eyes fluttered to the box, a matcha tea doughnut waiting patiently for him.

“ _Sweet_.”

* * *

The fourth time, John was actually talking to him. Sherlock had struck up conversation after the doughnut incident and was quite friendly to him, despite John being the reason Sherlock had a huge cream stain on his navy blue button down. Sherlock leaned against the doorframe to the stage, John throwing the idea that they needed a huge gap between them out of the window.

However it may be, the set designers hauled a huge set piece from the shop to the backstage and took up most of the door space while doing it. Instead of stepping into the hallway, like normal people, John and Sherlock ended up squished together like an awkward, and feverishly blushing, human sandwich.

Their noses bumped and John could feel a stifled hot breath on his cheek. Midway through moving, the technicians stopped, John’s body aching from standing in an awkward position. All John could do was smile at the tension, Sherlock doing the same. John noticed that he liked it when Sherlock smiled, it seemed to light up the cramped space better than any light the theater owned.

They eventually slide it onto the stage, John practically leaping off of Sherlock.

“Well that was...inconvenient. Sorry,” John huffed.

“No, it's okay, I've been in worse.” Sherlock said, getting a chuckle out of John and himself. “I mean we were standing pretty close as it was.”

“O-Oh, I'm sorry,” John said.

“No, it was an observation, not a complaint.” Sherlock looked away from John quickly and pulled up his sleeves one by one as he started moving, stepping into the backstage. A red puppy-paw tattoo on his outer-forearm shown, a thick black line on its perimeter.

“Do you have a dog?” John asked, feeling a little like he'd overstepped himself. He followed Sherlock but really wanted to keep their conversation going.

Sherlock glanced down at his arm, smiling, then back at John. “Yeah, er-I did. Redbeard was his name.”

“Oh,” John said, his expression softening. “He sounds very cute.”

“He was,” Sherlock said, his gaze going from the floor to John. “He was a huge red dog, a true sweetheart though.”

“Sweetheart,” John smiled and mouthed the word to himself when he saw Sherlock eyes flicker to a performer onstage.

Sherlock's attention was then on the performer, his arms correcting the dancers position before they continued, his voice sharply snapping directions. John turned around and let the ballet master do his work, his ears still ringing with the word.

* * *

It was the day before opening night, Sherlock sitting at the very back of the theater, oddly close to the booth where John sat. The lights had been programmed and now, John was only there in case something went wrong, which it possibly could. Sherlock moved from his seat and walked up the side, up the stairs, and disappearing into the wings.

John waited a while and watched the dancers, the booth door opening and Greg walking inside. Both spoke in whisper like voices.

“Just spoke to the pit conductor about the music.”

“Everything good?” John asked. Greg’s work didn't immediately affect John’s but it did affect the performance.

Greg nodded his head and sat himself at the soundboard, not touching it. “Everything good with you and Sherlock?”

“I mean,” John trailed off and his hands slid down his face, his voice still a whisper. “I dunno. He's amazing and great and is stupidly adorable in every way but I’m so awkward Greg.”

“I know-”

“Shut up!” John whisper-yelled at Greg, who decorated himself with a smile. “I'm just saying I don't know how it'll work out. Plus isn't romance at work suppose to be bad or something?”

Greg saw a red light on John’s headset and immediately turned pale. “John-”

“Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. However it may be, he's just so _perfect_.” John's elbow rested on the counter, his head sitting in his palm. His eyes wandered in front of him, not really focusing on anything. “Yanno I still feel bad about the doughnut thing.”

“Joh-”

“Yeah, I know it was your fault but still. _I’m_ the one who brought them, messing up his shirt and all. He looked good to that day, don't you think? I mean, he always looks good, splendid, all the time. Not to mention all that tattoos he has. You'd think that they're something hardcore and mysterious but most of them are sweet. He has one for his dog, which I think is quite charming. And don't even get me started on Sherlock’s laugh-”

“ _John_!” Greg whisper-yelled, smacking John on the arm, harder than he anticipated.

“ _What_?!” John questioned in the same noise level, pulling his arm back.

Greg smiled and let out a small, barely audible laugh. “Your headset is on.”

“Don't tell me he-”

“Most likely.” Greg nodded.

John felt a heat wave attack his entire being, his soul wanting to melt and disintegrate into the floor below. Sherlock could of potentially heard all of that. Every single word of it. John didn't feel like existing at that point.

“Dude relax, he might not of-”

“Or he might of,” came a voice from behind the two technicians. Greg looked over and gave John an apologetic look, John sinking further into his chair. He mouthed the word ‘fuck’ and covered his face with his hands. This was just great.

John didn't have the pride or energy to turn and face the man he just gushed on and on about, so instead he buried his attention in front of him, a ballerina still dancing as if nothing was happening. Ignorance was truly bliss.

John heard Greg get up and the door open and close, him and Sherlock being the only two in the small booth. John reached over and flipped his headset off, making sure no one heard anything else he had to say. As another precaution, he manipulated the wire that held the microphone up to the side so it wasn't anywhere near his mouth.

“Look I'm really sorry-”

“Why be sorry? You think I'm ‘quite charming’,” Sherlock's voice got closer to John back, his cheeks on fire.

“But it was uncalled for-”

Sherlock was leaning over the back of the chair and whispering very closely to John's ear, “And what if it wasn't.”

“I'm-what?”

John didn't get much reaction time because his chair spun around by the force behind him. His attention was snapped from a twirling ballerina, to a voluptuous, blue-eyed man. Sherlock’s shirt was unbuttoned a little more than usual, John’s heart thumping rampantly in his chest. John swallowed hard as he saw how close they were to each other, however not unfamiliar, as they've been in a situation like this before. Except this time it was intentional.

Sherlock's eyes flickered down to John mouth, his lips separated from a tiny gasp he released as he was spun around. John saw Sherlock's eyes move.

“Can...can I kiss you?” Sherlock asked.

The sexy, badboy persona Sherlock had been trying to pull of shattered in an instant when he said this, that not being a horrible thing. Instead, something new formed around John's heart. Something way better than what he had before.

John nodded his head and watched as loose curls that flopped in front of Sherlock's face, pressed against his forehead. Out of the corner of John's eye, he spotted a dark patch, probably another tattoo, sprouting from the collar of Sherlock's shirt. His eyelids fluttered shut as he felt a pair of lips touch his.

A sweet sensation, would be how John would describe it. He didn't have time to prepare for this, this being something he'd never thought he'd get the chance to do.

But John could taste the cherry chapstick Sherlock used.

Sweet.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me [here](http://queersunflowers.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


End file.
